


Hasta Manana, Monsieur!

by spookyleo



Series: AEDWQ 2020 [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: AEDWQ, Alternate Universe - Western, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyleo/pseuds/spookyleo
Summary: Two times Eames comes to town.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Series: AEDWQ 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706893
Comments: 11
Kudos: 12





	Hasta Manana, Monsieur!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This was written for the third week of AEDWQ over at teacuphuman09 on tumblr. Thanks again to Teacup Human! And thanks to Mo for beta-ing (lov u buddy!)  
> This was SO fun to write!   
> Of course, there is a song for this one. Check out Hasta Manana Monsieur by Sparks!

Arthur’s young when he first meets Eames. Not real young – old enough his pops wants him wed to a girl, any girl, and settle and have brats – but young enough that he ain’t a clue what he’s gettin’ into.

He meets Eames in the saloon, and he knows Eames ain’t from around these parts, because he knows everyone. Eames ain’t familiar. Not with his sparkling grey eyes, stubble that glimmers in the mid-August sun, the charm or the British accent.

“So why here, English?” Arthur says, when they inevitably get to talking - it ain't like there's an awful lot of folk talkin’ willingly to strangers in this tiny town in the armpit of America.

“On the run, aren’t I, darling,” Eames hardly makes no attempt at covering that he’s flirting, and Arthur ain’t sure what to make of that.

Arthur don’t have to ask what Eames ran from, ‘cause it figures. “Finally realise’ murderin’ native folk over land ain’t the life them rich men in Britain promised it was?” He says, and Eames takes a swig at his beer.

“Bloody rich cunts,” Eames growls, and Arthur’s eyes widen. Eames must notice, because he says “What?” Like he ain’t know what he just said.

“Nothin’,” Arthur said, swallowing. “Just – boys round these parts ain’t got no mouth like you do, Mr. Eames.”

Eames eyes glint again, and he finishes his drink. “I can absolutely assure you of that, Arthur.”

They end up fuckin’ in a barn not far away, Arthur’s calves on Eames’ shoulders and the taste of booze in Arthur’s mouth. Nothin’ but spit and try-hardin’ guide their way, and they lay in the straw after, pink-chested, glowin’.

“I have to keep running,” Eames says, like that weren’t a religious experience for them both. Arthur meets his eyes with his own, and he ain’t sure what to feel.

By the time Eames returns, Arthur’s the Sheriff.

“I said I’d come back, love, didn’t I,” Eames says. Arthur rides his horse out towards him, watches the townsfolk glare at Eames with expressions cold as steel.

Not like Arthur can judge them. They got every right to be afraid – Eames’ face plasters every ‘Wanted’ poster this side of Missouri. Murder. Desertion. It shows in the creases an’ scars of Eames’ face. Arthur keeps his cool as he looms over.

“You did, Eames. Then you became an Outlaw.”


End file.
